[THEME MUSIC PLAYING]
FRASIER: Ah, yes, another beautiful Saturday night.
The moon is full,
the city lights are twinkling,
lovers steal kisses in the park.
And here…
Chez Crane…
My father and his assistant sit hunched over 20-year-old photographs
of a murdered hooker.
Life is a banquet.
I enjoy looking at your father's old case.
Just because you have no plans tonight, don't spoil our harmless fun.
You know, there's nothing we Brits like better than a grisly murder
and a nice hot cup of tea.
I've got a lot of work to do here.
-So, if you don't mind, I… -DAPHNE: excuse me.
I didn't know I was bothering you.
MARTIN: Well, I'm sorry. It's this damn case.
I feel like the answer to who murdered Helen is right here.
-I just can't see it. -FRASIER: You're obsessing.
You stare at these grisly pictures day after day, night after night.
Why don't we go out and see a movie?
-No, thanks. -Let's go get a pizza.
-MARTIN: Nah. -Let's get tattooed.
Oh…
This is ridiculous!
It's a beautiful night, and I'm not going to miss it.
I'm going to go out and take a nice long walk and I'm not going by myself.
He likes the rhododendrons on the north side of the park.
MARJORIE: And I just want to thank you, Dr. Crane.
Because of your advice, I've conquered my fear of heights.
I took it slowly, gradually going higher and higher,
until here I am right now having lunch at the top of the Space Needle!
Marjorie, congratulations. I'm so proud of you.
I mean, when I think of how I used… [SCREAMING]
God, what's wrong? What happened?
I just looked down.
Oh, well, Marjorie, don't do that.
Look at your luncheon companions, look at your menu, but don't look down.
You're only feeding your fears when you do that.
Maybe I wasn't ready for a window table.
No, no, no, of course you are.
Of course you are. You can beat this thing.
You're right. I can, Dr. Crane.
If I just… [SCREAMS]
Do not look down!
No, I didn't.
My check just came.
Oh, well, Marjorie, we're just about out of time now.
Call me tomorrow, will you?
That's it for today.
Stay tuned for Bob "Bulldog" Briscoe.
This is Dr. Frasier Crane, KACL 780, Talk Radio.
Hey, Doc.
Bulldog.
I caught the first hour of your show today.
If that chick whining about sexual harassment called my show,
I'd say, "Listen, doll, you don't want people snapping your bra, don't wear one."
Brilliant in its simplicity.
Hey, how's this sound, Hard body?
You, me, Sonics, Knicks, tonight?
Sorry, Bulldog, but I'm already going. I have season tickets.
We could still get together afterwards.
Only if I smash into your car in the parking lot.
Why is it the ones that want it the most put up the biggest struggle?
Because when I do finally give in, I want us to enjoy it all the more.
That is, if I'm not too distracted by the fact that every man on earth has died.
Almost had her there.
Yes, it could've gone either way.
Oh, well, with my pull, I can get those any time I want.
Hello, Frasier.
Oh, oh. Bulldog, have you met my brother, Niles?
Niles, this is Bulldog Briscoe.
Oh, oh, oh. Just the man I want to talk to.
As a sports expert, I'm sure you can tell me why none of the local media
carry the Ivy League squash standings.
Whoa! Another one just like you!
Did some gypsy put a curse on your family?
-Well, I gotta run. See you later, Miles. -It's, it's Niles.
Heh. Like it matters.
Well, you ready for our boys night out at Le Cochon Noir?
[HORN HONKS]
Yes.
But, Niles, I've been wondering.
Would you mind if I ask Dad to join us?
Remember the last time we took Dad to a four-star restaurant?
He had a miserable time.
Restaurant lost a whole star.
I'm trying desperately to get him out of the house.
He's off on one of his Weeping Lotus binges again.
We've tried distracting him before.
We've taken him everywhere from the arboretum to the Zen garden.
Wait a minute, the Zen garden is at the arboretum.
Good Lord, is it possible we've only taken him one place?
Oh, Niles, Niles, this is it.
-This is it. The basketball game. -Basketball?
Yes, yes, I can get another ticket from the promotional department.
Oh, this is perfect!
Just imagine how excited Dad will be to go to a game with his two sons.
My God, it's the archetypal male bonding ritual.
Couldn't we just go into the woods, kill something and have done with it?
-All right. -Come on, Niles.
It'll give you a chance to see the Tacoma Dome.
I've already seen it. They had a Home Show there once.
You know,
that's where I got that idea to stencil a grape arbor on our Welsh dresser.
FRASIER: I'm a teamster compared to you.
[BASKETBALL DRIBBLING]
VENDOR: Peanuts!
Peanuts here!
Peanuts!
-Peanuts! -Niles, the game's that way.
I know. I'm just calculating our escape route in case of fire or urban unrest.
Maris taught me that.
Oh, you love her, don't you?
Yes, I do. Why?
It just helps to know that.
Here we are, one beer and two glasses of wine.
I'm sure it's good, Niles. They opened a fresh box when they poured it.
What are you guys doing drinking wine at a ball game?
You ought to be drinking beer.
Dad, I only drink beer when I eat German food, which is to say never.
Did you notice where the facilities are when you were up?
Yes, Niles. It's just as you feared: communal urinals in the men's room.
Oh, fine. What am I supposed to do about my shy kidneys?
-So, Dad, aren't these great seats, huh? -Yeah.
What's the matter?
Nothing. Let me borrow your pen a minute, will you?
What for?
I was thinking about that ballistics report.
I wanna make a note so I won't forget it.
The whole idea of coming here was to get your mind off of the case.
Listen, I've done some reading.
It seems that the key to the Sonics is to stop Starks
from penetrating and dumping the ball off for easy baskets.
Stop Starks. That sounds funny. Stop Starks.
Stop Starks. Stop Starks. Stop Starks.
Oh, shut up, Niles!
-It makes no sense. -Dad, it's not my theory.
I'm just quoting some sportswriter.
No, I mean, Helen. She was tall.
She was 5'7", yet the bullet entered on a downward trajectory.
Dad, please, try to participate.
Oh, look, they're starting the wave!
Oh, oh, it's coming this way! It's coming this way!
That was fun, wasn't it?
Oh, look, there's a peanut guy. Peanuts!
-How dare you? -Niles.
Stop it!
That hooligan is pelting me with peanuts.
From the look of that tray… Oh, he's over there! Stop!
Stop it! That is for me!
I've gotta go make a call.
-Dad, this isn't about the case, is it? -Yeah.
You've been working on it for 20 years.
How come you're so obsessed now?
Look, when Helen was murdered, I made a promise to her mother.
I said that no matter how long it took, I'd find the killer.
Well, I had a call from her last week,
and she's an old lady now living in a home somewhere.
I don't know, she just doesn't seem to have a lot longer to go.
And it just kind of lit a fire under me to get this thing solved.
So I appreciate you bringing me, but I gotta make this call.
-I'll be back in a couple of minutes. -Okay, Dad.
I understand.
Boy, the traffic tonight is murder.
Hey, pal, what's the score?
West Side Story.
[CROWD CHEERING]
You know what's always bugged me? This picture of the crime scene.
The way Helen's written "help."
Why would she do that?
Well, I suppose the word "howdy"
would've been a bit too cheery under the circumstances.
But it makes no sense.
Anybody who could read "help" in the dirt could also see Helen lying there.
-Evening, Dad. -Hey, Dad.
Thanks again for the ball game. It was great.
Oh, God, it was a pleasure, Dad.
I'm only sorry that you couldn't join us for dinner afterwards.
Le Cochon Noir gave us a late seating for a fabulous dinner.
It was an exquisite meal, marred only
by the lack of even one outstanding cognac on their carte de digestife.
Yes, but think of it this way, Niles.
What's the one thing better than an exquisite meal?
An exquisite meal with one tiny flaw we can pick at all night.
Quite right.
To impossible standards.
Ah. So, Dad, any progress on the case?
Nah, I'm beat.
Sometimes it's better to just get a good night's sleep
and start fresh in the morning.
-Good night, fellas. -FRASIER: Night, Dad.
Don't forget, brush your teeth and say your prayers.
[LAUGHS] That's what I used to say to you guys when you were kids, didn't I?
No, you didn't.
MARTIN: Oh.
-I meant to. -We knew that.
-Hello. -Hello, Daphne.
How was your dinner?
It was fine except for one small flaw.
Oh, just the way you like it.
I see you're a bit intrigued by that yourself.
Yes, well, it's been a while since I've gone over this.
Who are these guys?
Oh, just some of the principal players in our little drama.
That's Detective Shelby, the vice cop who found the body.
Who is this menacing little monobrow?
Oh, that's Robitaille, the logger.
An ex-boyfriend of Helen's.
He used to come down from the mountains every couple of months
and disappear with her.
If you ask me, he's the murderer.
Impossible.
-He's got an airtight alibi. -What is it?
He was killing somebody else at the time.
But you have to admit, this case has it all:
sex, greed, jealousy, revenge, a monkey, hatred, deception…
-Wait, wait, wait! -What?
-A monkey? -Well, yeah.
This is a snapshot of the murder victim with her pet monkey, Coco.
It was given to her by another boyfriend, Clive Brisbane.
Well, why wasn't Brisbane a suspect?
Yeah, well, he was, but several witnesses
saw him at the racetrack at the time of the murder.
Excuse me. Is that Clive Brisbane the animal trainer?
That's right. Brisbane's Amazing Apes.
They opened in Las Vegas for Englebert Humperdinck.
Yes, it's easy to forget there was time when
Las Vegas wasn't the tacky place it is now.
You know, I actually caught Brisbane's act on a trip to Las Vegas during college.
Those apes were amazing!
One minute they'd be staging a living tableau
of George Washington crossing the Delaware,
and the next they'd be shooting suction-cup arrows
at Brisbane's lovely assistant's derriere.
You know…
There is a way that Brisbane could be the killer
and still have his horse-track alibi hold up.
Daphne, Niles.
I present you with… the killer!
A monkey was the trigger man?
Just play along with me here.
They're capable of shooting arrows.
Why not a gun?
But why would Brisbane have her killed?
Because… because she jilted him for someone else.
Robitaille the logger!
-Exactly! My God, we've done it! -No, you've done it, Dr. Crane!
Well, yes, but you were standing very close by.
Wait a minute, are we saying here that a murder was committed by a monkey?
It's not so very far-fetched.
It could be Brisbane's diabolical homage
to the Edgar Allen Poe story, Murders in the Rue Morgue.
It's all about an orangutan who goes about the rooftops of Paris murdering people.
Wait till we tell Dad his case has finally been solved.
-Dad! Dad! Come out! -No, no, no, Niles, Niles, wait, wait.
It's still just a theory.
Even if we are right, think how Dad will feel knowing that
we've cracked a case that he couldn't solve in 20 years.
Dear, you're right.
Wait. It's merely serendipity that I stumbled into this.
Why can't it happen again?
I'll simply rearrange the photos in a way so that Dad will see the connection.
All right, we've got Coco, the gun, and Helen.
MARTIN: What is it?
Oh, no, hey, Frasier, what are you doing over there?
-I'm sorry, Dad. -No, no, no.
I got these all set out the way I wanted 'em.
This one goes up…
MARTIN: I'll be damned.
Something wrong?
Look at that.
What?
I never thought it would just leap out and bite me like this.
I think I may have solved this pain-in-the-ass case.
-You have? -FRASIER: That's wonderful news!
No, no, don't get too excited.
I mean, this is, uh, kind of far-fetched.
I mean, it's a long shot, but it's beginning to make sense to me.
Lay it out for us. Let's see it.
No, please, just give me a little privacy, will you?
-I've gotta do some thinking. -No problem.
Yeah, I was just going to bed meself.
-Night, all. -Good night, Daphne.
Look at him. Did you see the sparkle in his eye?
Oh, Frasier, he's like a little kid at Christmas.
Oh, jeez, what happened to my entry wound close-ups?
♪ Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la ♪
-Hello, Daphne. -Hello.
-Is Dad home? -Nope.
I haven't seen him since he knocked me up early this morning.
What?
Knocked me up.
Woke me up. It's an English expression.
What does it mean here?
Oh, something else.
You'd definitely be awake for it, though.
He was headed down to the station house to present his theory.
Oh, dear God, I wish he hadn't done that.
I've been turning it over in my mind all day.
The more I think about it, the goofier it sounds.
I mean, a monkey?
I just hope they didn't laugh him out of the station.
It'd be one hell of a way to end a 30-year police career.
Oh, now, now, Dr. Crane.
It's not the most outlandish theory in the world.
You're right.
I could've said it was a trained giraffe.
I suppose he killed her by spitting a bullet at her,
thus explaining the downward trajectory.
Hey, guys.
-DAPHNE: Hello. -Oh, hi, Dad.
Heard anything from the station house yet?
Not yet.
I was afraid of that.
I mean, I knew my theory was a bit iffy,
but when I told the guys, they looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
-They didn't ridicule you, did they, Dad? -Oh, no.
They always treat old-timers with respect.
They said, "I'll check it out"
just like I used to when some nutbag would come in there
with aluminum foil in his hat
claiming the Martians were trying to steal his brainwaves.
-I'm sorry, Mr. Crane. -Oh, I don't know what I was thinking of.
I've been walking around all afternoon
just tryin' to figure out how I came up with such a half-assed theory.
Dad, it wasn't your fault. I did it.
You killed her?
No.
But I did plant that ridiculous idea in your head.
Remember last night when you came in
so upset that I was rearranging your pictures?
Well, I rearranged them in a specific way so that you would…
Come to the same conclusion I did.
So you had the idea first?
-I can't tell you how terrible I feel. -Don't blame yourself.
You might have put the aluminum foil in my hat,
but I walked right into the station wearing it.
[DOORBELL RINGS]
I'll get it.
-Hi, Marty. -Hey, Frank!
Frasier, Daphne, you remember Frank Hollings from the precinct.
Marty, we gotta talk.
Oh, Frank, about that theory of mine.
I can't for the life of me figure what you were thinking.
I know, I know. I just feel so stupid wasting your time like that.
It cost us a whole afternoon and five detectives' time.
And all we got to show for it is…
-We got the bastard! -I was right?
Hey, you don't believe me, ask these derelicts.
[ALL CHEERING]
-Good to see you. Come on in! -Marty, you still got it.
-Way to go, Marty! -And it only took you 20 years.
Oh, Mr. Crane, I'm so proud of you.
Oh, that's amazing! That's wonderful. Oh, that's suede!
FRANK: So, Marty, how did you do it?
Well, you know, for years I thought it was Robitaille the logger.
And then I thought, well, maybe it Brisbane, the animal trainer.
But I was wrong.
How did you finally decide that it was, uh, Detective Shelby?
Well, you know, I kept looking at that picture, and it kept bugging me.
You know, why was she trying to write "help" in the dirt?
And then it came to me.
She was trying to write the killer's name: Shelby.
Only she must have died before she finished the B
and somebody must have kicked dirt over the S.
You nailed him all right.
We pulled him in for interrogation, he cracked like a nut.
You know, I'm sorry I ever doubted you.
But then you yourself were beginning to wonder
if a monkey could really commit a murder.
Well, I may have momentarily doubted it,
but from time to time I have to be reminded to trust my gift.
So did you call the girl's mother yet?
No, we left that for you. You were the guy that solved this thing.
Oh, well, you know, actually,
I can't take all the credit for it, right, Frasier?
-Come on, get over here. -Oh, now, Dad.
No, no, come on. Don't be shy. I'm proud of you.
Yeah, I was a cop for 30 years, and it took my son with his Ph.D. mind
to crack this baby.
Of course I was standing next to him at the time.
So, uh, tell us about it, Frasier.
-Oh, no, no, no. -Yeah, go ahead.
Yeah. Come on.
Well, I hate to toot my own horn, but, well, if it'll make Dad happy.
I suppose it was my expertise in human behavior, combined with
a lifelong enthusiasm for the Rwandan lowland gorilla
that first set me thinking about the monkey.
I'm not sure I'm following you.
Perhaps I'm going too fast. I'll go slower.
The key was when I figured out that if Brisbane could teach a monkey
to impersonate George Washington,
then surely he could teach a monkey to cock a revolver,
sneak up a fire escape, lie in wait for Helen, pump her full of lead,
and then make his getaway, perhaps even still wearing
the Revolutionary War regalia in order to confuse any chance witnesses.
In fact, oh, and this is way out there, but, jeez,
maybe you should check to see if there were any local bank robberies at the time
that were committed by a short hairy man wearing a powdered wig.
You think the monkey was the killer?
When I said I was standing next to him,
I was really most of the way across the room.
Well, wasn't he?
No, it was Shelby.
Who's Shelby?
He was a vice cop. He was in love with Helen.
Oh.
Well, that was my second choice.
Can I freshen anyone's drink?
FRANK: Help me out here.
What did you think the monkey's motive was?
Jealousy?
Or maybe he just did it for the insurance money?
[ALL LAUGHING]
Hey, do you think we should put a tail on that monkey?
If that monkey did it, he'll swing for it.
Yes, that's all very funny.
Oh, come on, Frasier, you can take a joke, can't you?
Well, I suppose I can. Yes.
Oh, wait, I've got one!
Who do you suppose the monkey will get to defend him?
Clarence Darrow?
You know, the Scopes Monkey Trial.
You know, Darwin's Theory of Evolution.
It was turned into a, a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, Inherit The Wind.
Is that gun loaded?
[THEME MUSIC PLAYING]
♪ Hey, baby, I hear the blues a-callin' ♪
♪ Tossed salads and scrambled eggs ♪
Oh, my.
♪ And maybe I seem a bit confused ♪
♪ Yeah, maybe, but I got you pegged ♪
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
♪ But I don't know what to do ♪
♪ With those tossed salads and scrambled eggs ♪
♪ They're callin' again ♪
Scrambled eggs all over my face.
What is a boy to do?
Good night, everybody!